Matt Elliott: America’s Fastest Kindergarten Teacher

In June of 2013, a full-time teacher lined up in the final of the 1500m at U.S. nationals in Des Moines, Iowa. Matthew Elliott, 27, had barely made it through prelims--finishing fifth in his heat in 3:41--and was now surrounded by a who's who of American athletes in a sport he hadn't really taken seriously until a few years ago: Will Leer (U.S. indoor mile champion in 2013), Mac Fleet (2013 NCAA champion), Leo Manzano (2012 Olympic silver medalist) and Matt Centrowitz (2011 world championships bronze medalist). He couldn't help but stare, like a kid on the court with the Miami Heat.

He tried to remind himself that he belonged here--but he couldn't even get a room in town. He was staying 30 minutes away, in Ames. He'd arrived at the track four hours early, after eating his normal pre-race meal: a 6-inch oven-roasted chicken sandwich on honey-oat and a bag of SunChips, courtesy of Subway. He'd done his normal routine--two 400s, two 200s--chilled in the warm-up area, tried to stay focused. He listened to "Get Lucky" while putting on his shoes: "I was jamming out, man. Will Leer was right beside me, and I was like, 'Man, wouldn't it be nice if we got lucky today?'" Leer smiled and nodded.

It started slow in the heat, a sit-and-kick affair, just as he'd figured. They loped through 800 meters in a pedestrian 2:09, Elliott on the inside. All of them fancied themselves kickers; they bided their time. With 600 meters to go, the pace quickened. Elliott jockeyed from near last place in the stretched-out 12-man train to get nearer the front, sprinting from the bell to the line in 51 seconds--faster than all but two men. With a final lunge in front of Leer, he took fourth, earning a chance to make the national team with a time of 3:45.85. Centrowitz won in 3:45.17. If one of the top-three finishers failed to race a qualifying time over the next three weeks and Elliott did--or if one of them got injured--Elliott was in.

"I finished fourth," Elliott told him, panting. "And I felt great. That's the best I've ever felt in a race. I wanted to save everything for that last 100. Just stay patient. And, man, that was just God pushing me with his big hand up that last 100. I passed Will Leer. I passed the whole damn field, man."

McGregor watched as Elliott began to sob. The camera kept rolling.

"I ran a 4:42 in high school, man. I want kids out there to see . . . that it doesn't matter who you are or where you come from or who's your sponsor. I've got a full-time job. I'm an elementary school teacher. And I'm just having fun doing what I love to do." He apologized for crying and walked away.

"I was speechless," McGregor says. "I just stood there. The enormity of the situation suddenly hit me. I ran after him. I had to shake the hand of a man whose dreams had become reality. After congratulating him again, I had to sit down in the media area and soak in what I'd just been a part of. I began to cry and think about my career, that I wanted that same gratification the next time I raced."

Leaving McGregor, Elliott filled out world championships paperwork--unlike the others, he didn't have a rep to help--then went for a cool-down. Gabe Holguin joined him. Holguin, then 21, is Elliott's roommate, best friend, training partner and de facto little brother back in Rock Hill, S.C. He had accompanied Elliott to the race--using a Delta buddy pass--and now walked confidently past security, onto the track. While jogging they encountered Manzano, who finished second, coming the opposite way. They'd seen him at the airport, too, but were too awestruck to say hello.

"I congratulated him on making another U.S. team," Elliott says. "He asked me how I did. I said I finished fourth, and I was happy about it. He was like, 'Nice. Which race were you in?'"

Six feet tall, a muscular 165 pounds and wearing a bright yellow Brooks bib, Elliott had been standing right beside the smaller Manzano at the start and nearly eclipsed him during his furious final push.

"It was hilarious," says Holguin, a former middle-distance runner at Winthrop University, "once I got over the shock that we were talking to Leo Manzano. It was the highlight of my year."

Elliott is unlikely to be overlooked again. His Flotrack interview has been viewed 80,000 times and inspired "Matt Mania." He's getting autograph requests in the mail now, along with notes of encouragement and questions about training. More important to Elliott, however, is how he keeps racing. He saw Leo Manzano again at the Fifth Avenue Mile last September. Manzano smiled. Elliott smiled back. Then the teacher outkicked him.

Nathan Perkel

"What's my name?" squirming before Elliott are a dozen 5-through 8-year-olds at the Palmetto School in Rock Hill, where he's the early education specialist. "Mr. Matt," as they call him, teaches these children, many of whom have suffered abuse or neglect. Today they are reading. Books with names like I Take Care of My Dog and Poor Panda are spread before them.

"Maaattt. Elllliiioooott," he says, answering his own question in a smooth Southern accent, reminiscent of Matthew McConaughey's. Drawing out the syllables, he writes his name on a whiteboard for a wide-eyed 6-year-old who has just arrived for his first day.

"Say it with me, y'all: Maaaattttt . . ." Elliott has the calm but firm demeanor of kindergarten teachers everywhere.

This morning, in early March, he got up at 5:45 a.m. for a 10-mile run in the dark around Rock Hill with Holguin, cruising at about a 6:10 pace. They chatted the whole time, dodging cars and hopping curbs, finishing by 7:45. Elliott jumped in his truck and raced home, blasting hip-hop. He favors Ludacris, T. Pain and Drake. "This music," he says, "is the one part of my life I can't share in my classroom. It fits who I am, but it doesn't fit at the same time: I'm an upbeat, intense, full-of-life person. All of that grows when I hear rap." (His friends agree, though one says: "When you meet Matt, you don't think Drake.")

At home he ate a PowerBar, chased it with some AdvoCare powder and changed clothes: khakis, a green collared shirt too big for him and black Brooks shoes "that sort of look dressy." He got to class by 8:15, when the kids arrived--most from a nearby foster home affiliated with the school.

Though his father died when he was 6, in a freak accident while repairing his grandmother's roof, Elliott grew up in what he describes as the "the best home anyone could be born into," in the little town of Green Sea, S.C. His parents were teachers, "but we had anything we ever wanted," he says. "Especially love." He went to church, played Little League and began his running career in kindergarten, at field day: "These guys Rat and Anthony"--he still remembers their names--"beat me in a half-mile run, but the next six years I won." In his first 5K, as a seventh-grader on varsity, he ran 24:13. Later that year he ran 21:10. Two years later, a 5-foot-11, 137-pound junior, he won the single-A state championship in the mile "out of nowhere" with a 4:47.

His mother, Phyllis, ended up marrying the athletic director at Elliott's school, Charles Evington. A former quarterback at Furman University, he became Elliott's athletic hero. But Elliott's mother, who taught kindergarten and coached his high school track team, is the reason he obtained a degree in early childhood education in 2007 at Presbyterian College (one of three small schools that recruited him), where he battled injury while captaining the cross country team and performing as a tenor in the choir. He made first team all-conference his junior year and ran a 4:06 in the 1500m his senior year in his first attempt at the distance.

That April he watched Alan Webb, wearing gloves, run a freezing 3:57 mile at Furman University. He cried when it was over: "I'd never seen someone run so fast. He stuck his fist out and took off on the last lap." Afterward, Elliott won the All-Comers mile in 4:31. He played Ultimate Frisbee to stay in shape that spring and ran a marathon for fun. He never heard back from the track and field coach at Winthrop, Ben Paxton, whom he'd contacted back in January to see about using his additional year of eligibility there while he pursued a master's in physical education. "Now I understand why he didn't call me," Elliott says. "I had no real track resume."

A mutual friend prodded Paxton on Elliott's behalf, and he finally got back to him that August of 2008 before school started. A week later, Elliott attended the first official practice. "They were doing mile repeats," he says. "It was about 99 degrees." His times were 5:09, 5:50, 6:16, 5:52. "A couple of girls beat me on the third one," he says. Gradually, Elliott worked his way up to the team's top group. A month in, he set an 8K PR: 26:56. Later that year he ran a 4:14 mile in his first-ever indoor track meet and then a 1:52 in the indoor 800m. He ran 50 miles a week for the first time. He put on spikes for the first time, too. Something clicked. He won some races.

"My daddy told me," he says, referring to his stepdad, "that one day if I got good enough at something, people wouldn't spell my name wrong.

"There's no running in Mr. Matt's classroom." Elliot says as a boy tries to make a break for the bathroom. "If you run into Mr. Matt, it's not going to be good." The school day isn't even halfway over yet.

Before lunch, Elliott teaches the kids the meaning of "classification." As an example, he says: "You organize or classify your underwear and socks in your drawer." The class shouts, "Ewwwww!" He tries another tack: "What do you keep above the refrigerator?"

"You keep protein shakes," a child offers.

"That's right," Elliott chuckles. "You know my house."

Palmetto's principal, Hugh Wilson, says Elliott is "the most positive person" he's ever met and that he puts the kids above himself. Elliott helped start Run for Attention in 2010, an annual 5K that benefits the school. He even gives a portion of his modest salary back to Palmetto.

When the Flotrack interview went viral after 2013 nationals, $5,000 in donations flowed into the school from strangers. "That was all because of him and what he does," says Wilson, a NASCAR fan. "We had no idea he was that into running when we hired him. But I'll tell you what, he's like a race car on that track."

In 2009, Elliott's first year as a post-collegiate runner, he ran the 1500m in 3:43. That same year he became a part-time physical education teacher at Palmetto. He remained stuck at 3:43 the entirety of 2010. "I thought I was all in," he says, "but I wasn't." In 2011 he called Scott Simmons, a successful coach at nearby Queens University, whom he credits with much of his success since. Two months in, he broke 14 in the 5K for the first time, then 3:42 in the 1500m, then 4 minutes in the mile. They focused on more long runs and added tempo runs every week--neither of which he'd really done at Winthrop. Simmons emphasized double runs, too, for recovery. And pool work.

Though his training was going well and he liked his job, Elliott decided to take a leave from both and run with Team Indiana Elite later that year--receiving free housing, training and gear while joining a group of eight professional distance runners--in preparation for the Olympic trials in June. But a foot injury stalled progress, and he came up short, 34th in line for a group of 30. Then he "ran like crap" in Canada in the summer of 2012. Feeling far away from home and still hurting physically and emotionally, he says it was "the lowest point of my career so far."

That's when Wilson called him with an offer: a fulltime teaching gig at Palmetto as an early education specialist. "It was four years from the next Olympics," Elliott says. "I thought, 'If I'm gonna try a full-time job, I may as well do it now.' " Back in South Carolina, he hooked up with his friend Greg Adamson, a strength and conditioning coach he'd met in school. He also got back in touch with Simmons, who'd moved to Colorado Springs.

A five-time NAIA national cross country coach of the year who now runs the American Distance Project (ADP), Elliott calls Simmons "coach of the best unknown runners in the world." Though his mileage under Simmons remained at Indiana volume levels--roughly 90 a week--he pushed himself harder. "Scott's workouts are simple, specific and balanced," Elliott says. "But there's more room for taking chances, going over the redline. I started getting after it hard, but in a controlled way." He calls it "controlling the beast."

With Simmons' continued guidance--communicated primarily by phone and text--Elliott made it to Des Moines the following year, finishing fourth at nationals. He didn't quite make the worlds team, however--he was the last man out--which has been a motivator since. "His dedication is unparalleled," Simmons says.

Last year he ran a 3:58 at the Furman mile, becoming the first native South Carolinian to break 4 minutes at a race in the state. "At the high school level I did pretty well," he says. "At Division II, I did pretty well. At Winthrop, in the Big South, I won a couple of conference championships, broke a couple of school records, made it to nationals: did well. At the pro level, I'm getting to where I need to be." His goal now: to break 3:35 in the 1500m and make the world championships next year.

Nathan Perkel

Elliot takes a few kids to their homes after school. Then he slowly drives ("I've never seen anybody who drives so slow," Adamson says, "but his mom would get mad if he didn't") to meet Holguin at a nearby track at Dutchman Creek Middle School, where parents are picking up their kids from practice. A woman in a minivan looks suspiciously at Matt and says, "How far y'all running?"

Elliott and Holguin start with a 3-mile warm-up and end with a 2-mile jog on grass. In between, Holguin paces him as he does 25×400m starting every 2 minutes. Each is run in 64 or 65 seconds--his 5K pace--except for the 20th and 25th intervals. He hammers those out at his mile clip: 55-56 seconds.

Through the first 10 or so laps--Holguin pacing him out to the 200m mark and then stopping to watch, count time and yell encouragement--Elliott is his chipper self. Gradually, however, the painfulness of the workout brings out a testy side. At one point, Holguin doesn't say how much time Elliott has left to rest: " What's the time? " Elliott shouts, hands on his knees. Then, feeling bad for chiding him, follows with: "You still the man, though."

After the 21st interval, Elliott turns and says, with evident restraint: "This is a very unique feeling." He collapses following the last one, from both complete fatigue and excitement. He ran his times.

"That's one of the best workouts you've ever had, brother," he says to Holguin back in the car, above the throb of the bass of Slim Thug. He turns the music up louder, puts down the windows and yells: "We in this!"

Hip-hop helps take the edge off. Between the track, the road, the gym, the pool and stretching, he averages five to six hours of training a day. Elliott summarizes: "A substantial amount of volume with high intensity every dang week of the year. All Scott has to do is hit send and it's gonna be done. Greg, too."

Adamson began working with Elliott on his strength and conditioning in the summer of 2010. Elliott says Adamson's workouts are "challenging but refreshing, the most athletic thing I do. He's built my confidence. I didn't get serious until I met him. I was very naive to what actual training should look like."

Elliott was stiff and not very strong, Adamson says, but his pain tolerance and determination were high. They began incorporating Olympic lifting into his routine: hang clean, power clean, snatch. Elliott was dubious at first, but the results came.

"Some people say, 'You can't train him like a football player,' " Adamson says. "But the kid's profile fits this. I want him to be strong, but I want flexibility, agility, a taken-care-of body." That includes nutrition: "He was trying to eat a cookie at a wedding a couple of years ago," Adamson says, "and I told him, 'You're gonna miss the Olympics eating that.' " (Elliott ate it anyway.)

He adds, "Matt's probably the most coachable athlete any coach will ever have. He's the nicest guy you'll meet, too, but he don't want to lose to you. The goal is to be the best runner in the country and then the best in the world. Until he's on the podium in Rio, it's unfinished business. He needs to start expecting to win."

Simmons also thinks Elliott has the potential to make an Olympic team and urged him to move to altitude in Colorado Springs until he Googled Elliott's school.

"Damn it, Matt," he texted him. "I think it's very selfish of me to ever ask you to quit. Your work is so meaningful and important . . . more so than running fast is. I'm going to make a deal with you if you stay at Palmetto, even through the trials. Whatever you are scheduled to pay ADP for coaching, save that to buy an altitude tent. With occasional stays at altitude and a tent in SC, we can make it work. Those kids need you, Matt."

HE LIVES WITH HOLGUIN IN A 900-square-foot apartment in what he calls "the cheapest, safest apartment complex" in Rock Hill, a town a half hour south of Charlotte and home to Winthrop. One night in March, Holguin has generously prepared sweet potato fries, grilled chicken, pork chops and canned vegetables; he cooks for Elliott occasionally, enjoying the contribution. In addition to all of his other goals, Elliott tries to eat 5,000 calories a day.

Elliott's girlfriend, a social worker he met through work, joins them.

"I didn't realize what I was getting into," she says, half-smiling, when asked about dating a runner with Olympic ambitions. She heads home when dinner is over, knowing that he still has his stretching and ice bath routine to go. Elliott moves to the living room.

There's a Babe Ruth poster that says "From Orphanage to Hall of Fame." Almost everything else in the house is running-related: pictures of Prefontaine, shots of Elliott midstride. One of the few things he and Holguin do--besides running and working out--is watch Dave Chappelle. They also talk: "He's one of the very few people," says Holguin, "where you can have a really deep conversation about something. You feel he's listening to you and really cares."

Instead of paying for Internet or cable--they watch Chappelle on DVD--or a working light fixture in his room, for that matter, Elliott pays for photos of himself to send to fans who reach out to him for an autograph. So far, 50 have done so.

Elliott's favorite thing in the house is the $700 La-Z-Boy his mother bought for him. He calls it "the Sanctuary," and he now sits rocking--"always rocking," says Holguin--waiting for "the Twins" to show up. Jared and Jacob Coccia are 16-year-old sophomores at a nearby school, where Elliott once gave a talk. Soon after, they joined Elliott in a local team race advertised on Facebook and became his "Superfans." In 2013, they started pacing his local tempo runs and off-track intervals by bike. They've been "pivotal," Elliott says, to his success. (Their mother often makes him dinner when they're done.)

This is their first visit to his apartment, and they announce, nearly in unison: "We knew it was your house because we saw the shoes by the door." Indeed, there is a small mountain of Brooks spikes and flats.

They'd just run in a dual meet for their team's varsity. "You guys look sharp in those uniforms," Elliott says. They laugh nervously as he continues. "Tell me about how the race went, dog!"

Warm-up is 3 miles and cool-down is 2 miles for Tuesday, Friday, Saturday.

PHOTO CAPTIONS

FACING THE CAMERA

Elliott has become more familiar to fans since his 2013 Flotrack interview at U.S. nationals went viral.

((caption)):

MAN ABOUT TOWN

Elliott fits his workouts around a full day teaching at the Palmetto School in Rock Hill, S.C. In addition to the 90 miles per week he runs, often accompanied by high school students on bikes, he fits in three pool sessions, two strength workouts and a visit to the chiropractor.

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